


Fisticuffs

by hellraisin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MWPP Era, Marauders, bar brawl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:20:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellraisin/pseuds/hellraisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“James took a punch as well, you know. It wasn’t just me,” Sirius says, trying to justify himself. “Got a dirty, great bruise on his cheek. Smashed his glasses up.”<br/>“James can take care of himself.”<br/>Sirius looks towards Remus again. “Are you saying I can’t?”<br/>“Of course not, that’s what I’m for,” he smiles, and Sirius feels his own mouth curving up slightly.<br/>“Well, you’re not doing a very good job, standing there and lecturing me. That doesn’t feel very caring.” </p><p>--</p><p>Or the one where Sirius gets a beating while sticking up for Peter, and it's Remus who patches him back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fisticuffs

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how Sirius chose to punch Lucius Malfoy in the face instead of using his wand during OotP, and I imagined him in tussles and scraps when he was younger. Figured I'd write some gibberish, so at 3am, with two cups of coffee, this is what I wrote.

Sirius Black doesn’t start every fight he gets into. Not _every_ fight. Just most of them. And those fights aren’t even duels, oh no. Sirius likes to fight without his wand, and he especially likes being the one to throw the first punch. He always has, and always will. After all, a wizard without his wand is useless, unless he knows how to use his fists.

He’s added his tendency to get into scraps at any given moment to the list of reasons why the Black family have disowned him. Well, that and everything else; and ‘ _everything else’_ covers quite a lot. His bad boy attitude might make him popular with the girls at Hogwarts (after all, who doesn’t like a bloke in a leather jacket?), but the constant bar brawls and the inclination to sock anyone who looks at his friends the wrong way definitely doesn’t make him popular with a lot of the other students.

He stumbles into the common room somewhere around one in the morning, an arm slung around James’ shoulder and Peter trailing behind them. That’s the way it’s always been; the same formation of James at his side and Peter following, regardless of location or intent.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Peter says as the painting of the Fat Lady swings closed behind them. “I could have managed it on my own.”

“Bollocks,” James laughs, letting go of Sirius and moving towards the fire, still blazing despite the room being completely empty. He takes his glasses off, noticing the small chip on one of the lenses, and pulls out his wand. “ _Oculus reparo_ ,” he murmurs, before putting the newly fixed glasses back on. “Seriously, Peter, you really _couldn’t_ have handled it. You’re lucky we were with you.”

“That bloke was a cock anyway,” Sirius nods as he limps towards one of the armchairs, settling down in it with a muffled grunt of pain. “He got what he deserved.”

“He barely did anything,” Peter sighs, “he was just trying to get past.”

“Trying to get past? Peter, he purposefully barged into you and then blamed _you_ for it!” James points out in exasperation. “I know you like to see the good in people, but you can’t defend everyone. Some people have malicious intent, you know.”

Sirius rolls his shoulders back, finding a particularly painful knot somewhere in his back and grunts to himself again. “Don’t worry about it, Wormtail. We sorted it, right?”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “If by sorted it, you mean you punched some random guy in the middle of The Three Broomsticks and got yourself chucked out into the snow, then yes. You definitely sorted it,” he grumbles. “I’m going to bed.”

James sits down in the armchair opposite Sirius as he watches Peter go up the stairs towards their dormitory. “He’s a miserable bugger at times, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, I suppose he is,” Sirius says, running a hand over his face. It’s all swollen at one side where his face is bruised and cut. Needless to say, the bloke he hit got a few blows in once they were thrown outside. “Tell me, James, am I still pretty?”

James squints at him for a moment, the warm, orange glow of the fire flickering against his cheeks. “It’s hard to say. Wait until the swelling goes down, and then I’ll tell you. I’d hate for you to lose your spot as The Second Hottest Gryffindor,” he winks.

“You’re a bastard,” Sirius laughs, but it turns into a slow, hacking cough. His ribs feel like they’re on fire; maybe they are.

James chuckles softly before he pushes himself up from the armchair. “I’m shattered, mate. You coming up to bed?”

“I will in a bit,” Sirius says, waving a hand. “Gonna warm up first. Rolling around in the snow with a guy twice your size isn’t as hot as it sounds.”

James rolls his eyes and moves to walk past his friend, ruffling his dark hair as he heads towards the stairs. “Moony,” he nods as he sees Remus coming down from the opposite direction.

“Prongs,” Remus smiles softly.

“Be careful with Sirius. He’s a bit tender, bless him,” James whispers to him.

“I can hear you,” Sirius objects.

James rolls his eyes again. “Trust me, the other guy got off worse. See you tomorrow, Remus,” he says, clapping his friend on the back before climbing up the stairs.

Remus pads into the room, his pyjama bottoms dragging on the floor a little where they’re too big for his skinny frame. He wrings his hands together as he shuffles over to where Sirius is sitting; he can only see the back of his head, so can’t quite inspect the damage just yet. “Oh my,” he says when he finally moves to stand in front of Sirius, noticing his swollen left eye and the cuts on his cheek, the split lip only adding to the picture.

“I know. Sirius Black has a black eye. The irony,” Sirius smirks, looking up at Remus with tired eyes. “Like James said, you should’ve seen the other bloke.”

Remus shakes his head and moves to sit in the other armchair, crossing one leg over the other. “I think I’ve got enough on my plate with you,” he says, one eyebrow arched. Sirius tries to chuckle, but it turns into another wheezy cough. “He didn’t just hit your face then, I take it.”

Sirius shakes his head once he’s regained his composure. “Nah. Couple of stomach punches. Winded me for a good twenty seconds. Got him back though, good and proper. He managed to kick me a few times mind. My leg is killing me,” he sighs, running a hand through his thick, black hair.

“Let me see,” Remus says, and Sirius looks over at him like he’s just suggested they join the circus. “Don’t look at me like that. If you’re injured, I want to check you over. You always do with me.”

“Most of yours are scratches, Remus. They need tending to so they don’t get infected. I hardly think I’m gonna die of a couple of bruises up and down my torso.”

“It could be internal bleeding.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow at his friend. “Any excuse to pry the clothes from my devilishly handsome body, hm?” he smirks, ignoring the way Remus rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he murmurs, slipping his tie from around his neck and beginning to unbutton his shirt. “Do you want me to hum that song everyone sings when someone starts stripping, just to set the mood?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Remus sighs softly as he pushes himself from his armchair and moves closer to the seat opposite him. Sirius undoes the last button and splays his shirt open, revealing a nasty collection of red and purple bruises mottling the right side of his ribcage; they’ve bloomed like roses on his pale skin. He leans back in his chair to ease the pain, even though he’s pretty good at biting his tongue. Remus reaches a hand forward to tentatively touch one of the bruises, shaking his head softly at the soft hissing sound Sirius makes. “You’re an idiot,” he says, “why do you let yourself get into these situations?”

“He was taking the piss out of Peter. What was I supposed to do?”

“Let Peter handle it?”

“Peter can barely handle dressing himself in a morning, let alone a guy two feet taller and two feet broader than him.”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “Oh, but you thought _you_ could take him on?” Sirius just shrugs and looks into the fire, watching the flames dance and the logs crackle. “You’re not invincible, Sirius,” Remus sighs, moving his hand away eventually and standing up straight. “You’re seventeen. You can’t keep starting fights in pubs with any old bugger who looks at you funny.”

“He wasn’t looking at _me_ funny. He was looking at _Peter_ funny.”

“Yes, and it’s very noble of you to stick up for your friend, but it’s not always your place to do that.”

Sirius turns to look back at Remus, his brow furrowed, expression sullen. “You’re telling me that if you saw one of us getting picked on, you’d just leave us to it? Even if you knew we didn’t stand a chance?”

Remus sighs again and moves to pace around the room. “That’s not what I said. Don’t twist things.”

“Enlighten me then,” Sirius challenges, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m just saying that you don’t have to put yourself in harm’s way every time,” Remus explains. “You’re not protecting Peter by taking the blow for him. Sometimes he has to learn some hardship for himself.”

“How sadistic of you, Remus.”

“You know what I mean.” He gives Sirius a pointed look, maintaining eye contact for as long as he can, before Sirius looks away and gazes into the fire again.

He’s quiet for a while, just watching the flames. There’s something calming about fire; the way it flickers like a warning sign, telling people to back off. Beautiful to watch, but dangerous to touch. Sirius thinks he has a thing for beautifully dangerous creatures. “James took a punch as well, you know. It wasn’t just me,” he says, trying to justify himself. “Got a dirty, great bruise on his cheek. Smashed his glasses up.”

“James can take care of himself.”

Sirius looks towards Remus again. “Are you saying I can’t?”

“Of course not, that’s what I’m for,” he smiles, and Sirius feels his own mouth curving up slightly.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job, standing there and lecturing me. That doesn’t feel very caring,” he says petulantly, although there’s no real malice in his tone.

“I’m crying on the inside,” Remus chuckles, moving to squat at the side of Sirius’s armchair, resting his forearms on the arm and looking up at him. Sirius glances fondly down at Remus, and turns in his seat slightly, ignoring the throbbing of his ribs as he moves to sit sideways in the chair. His body betrays him though, and he drags in a sharp intake of breath. Remus outstretches a hand and presses it against Sirius’s chest to stop him from moving any further. “Stop wriggling,” he says, “you’ll hurt yourself even more.”

Sirius looks down at the hand on his chest and smirks. “If you feel the need to touch me every time I shuffle, I might get up and do the bloody Macarena,” he says, biting his lower lip.

“You should go to bed before you say anything else that’s embarrassing for the both of us.” Remus moves his hand away and stands up slowly, although the soft smile is still on his face.

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“You’re never embarrassed.”

“Touché,” Sirius grunts out as he pushes himself from his chair, his back sore and his ribs aching and his wounded leg stinging beneath his trousers. He takes a moment to adjust once he’s stood on two feet, before he steps his bad leg out and wobbles. He opens his mouth to curse at the pain, but Remus is at his side before he can let it out, a warm arm wrapping around his waist. “Y’know,” he says, a light air of teasing in his tone, “I’m still shirtless.”

“Believe it or not, Sirius, I _did_ notice,” Remus murmurs, although his arm does not move. Sirius turns to look at him properly, moving his own hands to Remus’s middle and placing them on either side of his body. Remus rolls his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asks, but he doesn’t sound annoyed; more accepting of Sirius’s reckless behaviour. He came to stop questioning Sirius a long time ago.

“I’m injured. You’re supposed to look after me. We’re hugging.”

“This isn’t hugging, Sirius. This is your hands on my hips and my arms around you.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Oh for the love of...” Remus shakes his head softly and breaks the eye contact, looking away for a moment, although there is a large grin on his face that cannot be budged.

Sirius looks at the scars along Remus’s cheek, looks at the way they’re less of an affliction and more of a part of him. A part that has always been there and always will be, and Sirius wonders what those scars will look like when Remus is older. He wonders if he’ll live long enough to find out for himself; whether he and Remus will still be friends. Whether they’ll be more by then.

“Moony,” he prompts softly, squeezing his friend’s hip. “Remus.”

Stubbornly, Remus turns his head to look at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes, Sirius?” But he doesn’t get an answer. Instead, he is greeted by the feeling of Sirius Black’s lips on his own, the feeling of arms tightening around his waist. He moves a hand to tangle it in Sirius’s hair as he gives in and kisses back, noting that Sirius tastes of cigarettes and Butterbeer, and the bitter tang of blood where his lip is split. Remus coils an arm around Sirius’s middle, but quickly pulls both his arm and lips away when Sirius hisses in pain once more. “Sorry, I-.. Sorry, I didn’t mean t-.. Are you alright?” he asks, looking at Sirius with a worried expression.

“I told you to be gentle with him,” comes James’s voice from behind him, and they turn to see him leaning against the bottom of the staircase with his arms folded. “’Bout time you two got your shit together. Now stop faffing around and get to bed. Got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Shut up, James,” Sirius grumbles, sticking two fingers up at him and ignoring the way his best friend chuckles as he turns back to Remus. “I’m fine, Moony,” he tells him, running his hands up and down Remus’s sides.

“Good.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief and slouches forward – the thought of hurting Sirius had made his shoulders hunch up behind him. He rests his forehead against Sirius’s for just a moment. “I’m taking you to Madam Pomfrey, you know. I’m sure she’ll have something for your bruising. I can’t have you in a state like this for however long it’ll take you to heal.”

“Deary me, Lupin, what on Earth would you need me in top condition for?” Sirius grins devilishly.

“Behave yourself.”

 “I always do,” Sirius hums, placing a soft kiss on the tip of Remus’s scarred nose. “Now be a dear and help me up the stairs, will you? I doubt I can climb those bloody things on my own.

“Why don’t you carry him?” James suggests. "All bridal style?”

“Oh, fuck off, Potter!”


End file.
